


Cause you and the sea set me free

by MissEleanorVane



Series: Cause you and the sea set me free [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22156939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissEleanorVane/pseuds/MissEleanorVane
Summary: "It was not the life she wanted. What she wanted was to take the control of the tavern. Take control of Nassau because she was certain that she would do much better than her father." .1709. Eleanor Guthrie is 16. She hates her father. The pirate Charles Vane drives her crazy and their little game of provocations risks taking an unexpected turn... French OneShot, first of a series of OS that I have written a long time ago, and that I finally translated in english with the help of my dear friend Lexy Romanova.
Relationships: Eleanor Guthrie/Charles Vane
Series: Cause you and the sea set me free [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594873
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Cause you and the sea set me free

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear friends ! This is a first OS I write years ago about Vane and Eleanor, originally in French, my first language, that I translate today in English with the help of my dear friend Lexy Romanova who writes AMAZING fanfictions on Charles and Eleanor too, THANK YOU SO SO MUCH SIS !!! 
> 
> This OS happens well before season 1, I try to show a little here how things started for Charles and Eleanor but I also write something about the famous attack by Rosario, which corresponds in the history I think of the Franco-Spanish raid of Nassau which took place in 1703. I took this historical base therefore for this famous attack in which the mother of Eleanor died. If we calculate with the information of the show, we can conclude that Eleanor is around 25 years old in season 3, which would mean that she was born around 1693. So, at the beginning of this OS, Eleanor is 10. 
> 
> These are the conclusions to which I came thanks to the little info given in the show, and the calculations of the years. We have almost no information on Charles' age, except that he was a "young captain" at the time when Eleanor was 17 years old. In history, Charles Vane was born in 1680, so he would technically be ten years older than Eleanor. I think he is a little younger in the show, around thirty I would say.
> 
> I sincerely hope that you will like this OS :D it was partly inspired by the sublime song whose lyrics appear here, "Aquarius" by Within Temptation.
> 
> I wish you a good read and whatever is your opinion, a little comment ? :D
> 
> PS: Remember that this OS is happening in the past, Charles and Eleanor have not yet experienced everything they had to live and do not necessarily have the same reactions as they will have ten years later, in the show.  
> However, I would like to point out that neither Lexy Romanova nor I are English, so English is not our first language, and it is mainly I who did the translation, so it may not be perfect, and if you see errors to correct, especially do not hesitate to mention it !!

" _ **"I hear your whispers,**_

_**Break the silence,** _

_**And it calms me down,** _

_**Your taste on my lips,** _

_**Your salty kisses,** _

_**They say I'm seeking out the danger,** _

_**That one day you won't let me go..."** _

_New Providence Island._

  1. _Twelve years before the events of season 1._



A loud noise sounds through the house. Like a door suddenly opening and slamming against the wall.

Eleanor opened her eyes abruptly, feeling disoriented. Her gaze was on the window of her room and she saw that it was dark. It was strange that she saw orange gleams through her window too. The 10-year-old girl sat up in bed and felt her heart begin to beat dangerously fast in her chest. She did not know why, but she was on the process of getting up to go down to talk to her mother when she suddenly entered her room, causing her to jump.

Caroline Guthrie was standing at the doorway in a nightgown, with a candle in her hand. Her hair was undone and Eleanor froze at the sight of her mother's face. A terrified face. Her hands were trembling and she saw the wax of the candle running down her hand, but she didn’t seem to notice, approaching to grab her daughter’s hand and pull her out of the bed, almost shouting:

\- “Eleanor! Get up, quick! Come on, darling, get up!”

Eleanor allowed her mother to drag her out of the room, not even having time to really understand what was going on as she quickly led her down the stairs, hurrying down the steps, almost making them fall. As they made it to the ground floor of the house, the little girl noticed it was completely empty. Richard Guthrie and his personal slave, Mr. Scott, had gone to Port Royal for business, but where the devil had the other slaves of the house gone? Where were the bodyguards who were supposed to protect them in the absence of her father? Eleanor looked around herself but the candles were all extinguished and darkness reigned in the place, as well as silence. Eleanor froze once more, almost sending both herself and her mother to the floor when she suddenly heard screams outside the house. Screams of pain, fear, panic.

"Do not stop, Eleanor!" Her mother exclaimed, still pulling her along. “Hurry up, quick!”

"What's going on, Mother?" She whimpered, continuing to follow.

Caroline did not answer, dragging her daughter into the dining room where she let go of Eleanor's hand before rushing over to an old piece of furniture, proceeding to push it with all her might while her daughter watched her without understanding, trembling in the middle of the room. Only now Eleanor realized that she had brought one of her pillows with her and instinctively pressed it to her chest, restraining herself from crying out in fear when she heard more screams and crashing windows from outside. Whatever the threat was, it was moving through the lands. And the Guthrie’s land was in the middle of the road, by far one of the largest and richest. It would be a perfect target.

Once the piece of furniture had been moved out of the way, her mother knelt down and ripped the carpet off the floor before running her hands over the edges of the wooden planks, apparently looking for something. After a few seconds, she found a rope before pulling it with all her strength, and Eleanor backed away when the boards lifted up, revealing a secret hatch in the ground. She had never known that there was a hiding place under their dining room... but she was beginning to understand why.

Caroline Guthrie raised her green eyes, identical to her daughter’s, towards Eleanor and held out her hand with an encouraging smile, murmuring in a pressing tone:

“Go ahead, Eleanor, get down there.”

Eleanor obeyed, although she would have preferred her mother to go first, grabbing her hand for support as she went down the ladder, not knowing where it was going since there was nothing but darkness beneath her, and her mother had not given her a candle. Eleanor stopped when she reached the middle of the ladder, as she was about to let go of her mother's hand, looking up at her with questioning eyes. Why wasn’t she coming down, too? Caroline leaned over to grab her daughter's face in her hands, eyes hardening a little when she said,

“Listen to me, Eleanor, I forbid you to get out of there, understood? Whatever you hear, whatever happens, do not come back up unless your father, Mr Scott or I come back to look for you. Do you understand, Eleanor?”

– “But, mother, no, you must ...”

"Do not argue and go down," Her mother urged her, voice breaking slightly and the sweetness returning to her eyes. She stroked her daughter's cheek again and whispered: “Go, my darling, go ahead. And most importantly, do not make the slightest noise. Trust me, okay?”

Eleanor hesitated for a few seconds, not liking this at all, but her mother left her no choice, squeezing her hand one last time and then releasing it before closing the hatch abruptly, plunging her into total darkness. Eleanor heard that her mother was putting the carpet and the piece of furniture back in place before leaving the room. She was dying to go up and knock on the floorboards, but she knew she couldn’t. She would obey her mother, even if she did not like this. She fumbled in the dark, slowly descending further into the hiding place until her bare feet eventually reached the cold, slightly damp floor. She sank to it before hugging her knees to her chest in front of the ladder, waiting, unable to weep. She could do it, since no one was there to see her, but Eleanor hated to cry, even on her own.

She did what her mother said and did not move. At the end of what seemed like half an hour, she heard violent clattering in the house. Windows being broken, furniture thrown to the floor. She did not hear the slightest cry, except for the voices of men giving harsh orders in Spanish. That could only mean that her mother had been able to take refuge somewhere else and that she was safe too. Eleanor was careful not to make the slightest noise, as her mother had told her. She just closed her eyes and buried her face between her knees, waiting, listening as the Spaniards continued to speak, just above her head. It lasted for what seemed like hours and hours, the crashing sounds of furniture being broken causing her to jump in fear, as well as the lights from the men’s torches filtering through the cracks of the floorboards. After a while, they eventually left, but Eleanor did not move. Even without her mother's order, she wouldn’t have been able to, since she was frozen in fear, trying to contain her trembling.

After a moment, she could see that the sun had risen, as the light filtered through the cracks of the planks, again. She did not move. She was beginning to feel hungry and thirsty, and for a moment, she was trembling with cold. But she did not move a centimeter, and after several hours of waiting, she fell asleep against her pillow, lying on the floor, falling asleep while repeating the same sentence in her head: _"Come back, mother, please…”_

A spider awoke her. She was starting to crawl on her face, and Eleanor had a nice view of her long, big black legs as she opened her eyes, drawing back abruptly and getting up. Suddenly, when she felt ready to give in to the tears this time, she heard the furniture move again and looked up hopefully, feeling immense relief invade her. Her mother was coming back. Finally! She had no idea how long she had been in this dark cellar, but she did not want to stay a minute longer. She just wanted to be in her mother's arms.

But it was not her mother's face that appeared in the hatch door, illuminated by a torch. It was Mr. Scott's. Pure relief filled his eyes when he saw that she was safe, and he went down immediately, holding out his hand, murmuring in his grave and calm voice:

\- “Eleanor ... all is well, it's over. Come with me, we're leaving here.”

Eleanor looked at him for a few seconds, dying to ask him where her mother and father were, because if Mr. Scott had returned from Port Royal, it surely meant that her father had, too. But something in Mr. Scott's face stopped her. He seemed exhausted. Exhausted and incredibly sad too, though a glint had come to his eyes when he had found her. She wondered for a second if his wife and daughter were safe. She hoped so. She liked little Madi, although she had been a little too clingy for her liking when Mr. Scott had brought her to the Guthrie residence.

Eleanor grabbed Mr. Scott's hand and he helped her up the ladder. Her legs felt uncomfortable and when she saw the darkness that reigned in the house, she realized she had spent the day locked in the secret hiding place. That's why she was so hungry. But she did not have time to worry much because the sight of the dining room made her blood run cold. The little girl knew very well what had happened here, thanks to all the noise from earlier. But to see it was something quite different. There was nothing left of the dining room. The large table where she dined with her father and mother had been broken in two, and the chairs had disappeared. The paintings that hung on the walls had been either lacerated or thrown to the floor and she saw burn marks on the walls. All the statues her father loved were laying on the floor, as well as glasses and other dishes, the windows all broken. The house looked like chaos. Her home.

She felt so lost that she did not put up the slightest resistance when Mr. Scott wrapped a blanket around her before putting his arm around her small shoulders to drag her out of the house. Her house, which no longer resembled anything. When she went outside, she saw a big fire in the middle of the courtyard, and she saw that it was being fed by several wooden pieces of furniture that had been brought from inside the house. While Mr. Scott seemed to be urging her to leave the house, she could not help casting a glance back towards the fire, where she saw corpses of horses. Their stable had been devastated. But that is not what catches her attention. It’s the silhouette of her father. He was standing there, watching something on the ground. He had his back turned to her and she could not see his face but she noticed how his shoulders were shaking ... he was crying. Eleanor frowned. Her father, crying? Impossible. She wanted to see what he was looking at, but Mr. Scott tried to stop her.

– “Eleanor, no, do not look ...”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she struggled against his grip, managing to break free from it and approached to see what he did not want her to look at. And when she saw it, it took her a few seconds to understand. It was as if her mind had slowed down, she just did not want to admit that this could be real. For a few seconds, she didn’t react. Just for a few seconds. Then a wave of pain exploded inside her and made her whole body tremble. _No. No. Impossible. She had found somewhere to hide too, she had ..._

“Mother! No, mother ...”

She started to run without even realizing it, moving past her father who stood a few feet from his wife's body and she completely ignored him. She heard Mr. Scott's calls, which she also ignored. They could both go to the devil. Eleanor stopped in front of her mother's body, lying on the floor, eyes open, her gaze blank. Her hand held her bloody stomach while her blond hair was spread out on the floor. Looking at her face, one could almost say she looked peaceful. But Eleanor was unable to see that. She could not see anything, in fact. The tears she had been fighting until this moment had had won and she was sobbing loudly and uncontrollably. Her sight had become so blurred that she could not even see her mother. Was that what the word "pain" really meant?

The little girl fell on her knees before her mother's body and placed her hand on hers, feeling the sticky blood under her hands. She wanted to scream but could not really find the strength to do so. She could not think of anything but the words: _“I should not have obeyed her. I should have helped her. I should not have obeyed her. I should never have obeyed her ... I should not have obeyed her, I should never have ...”_

She felt two firm arms holding her, and Mr. Scott’s calm, soothing voice, even if filled with pain, reached her ears as he tried to pull her away from her mother's body. Eleanor struggled at once, exclaiming, "No! I will stay with her, I want to stay with her!” She turned to her father, who was still standing behind them, begging him to look at her for only a moment. Richard Guthrie looked at his daughter with an empty look in his eyes, even though she saw they were red from crying, and Eleanor desperately reached out for him. She wanted her father's arms, not Mr. Scott’s. Even if he had never hugged her before, he could not possibly push her away today. But when Richard saw that Eleanor wanted to approach him, he looked away and gestured to Mr. Scott, silently ordering him to take her away from him.

The slave obeyed and pulled Eleanor along. She did not resist this time, observing her father while she was led away from her mother. It was like taking a second stab to the heart. _“I will not forget that, father. I will never forget that”_ , was her last thought before she burst into tears again, sobbing and moving to snuggle against Mr. Scott, hiding her face against his body. Later, she would hate herself for having shown such weakness in front of him, as well as her father, who could surely see what was going on from afar. But at that moment she did not care. She needed someone to hold her. And Mr. Scott did not push her away. Unlike her father.

Mr. Scott took her to Nassau, to the tavern. Along the way, when she had more or less calmed down, though she was still silent and in shock, he had explained to her that the Spaniards had put their threat to execution, since the empire of pirates that her father was in the process of building had cost large sums to Spain. Two warships had ventured into the bay and stormed the beach. Since the fort was abandoned, no one had been able to stop them. And as they went up to the tavern, she could see the damage the Spaniards had left behind. Mutilated bodies laid along the main merchant lane. Buildings and camps were burned. She saw women weeping, squeezing their torn skirts against them, curled up in dark corners in the city. Nassau was nothing but a heap of smoking ashes, where only tears and misery could be seen.

A few days later, as the people slowly began to move and wake up from their shock after the attack from the Rosario, the main Spanish warship, Eleanor had stood by her father's side during her mother's burial, in their land. The sky was gray and it was raining heavily that day. As if Heaven knew. She had not spoken to him, no more than a glance, since he had looked away when she had tried to approach him. When it was over, she quietly squeezed Mr. Scott's hand in front of Caroline Guthrie's grave. Before they came to the funeral, Mr. Scott had given her the medallion her mother used to wear, telling her that she would have liked her to keep the jewel. Eleanor had watched the old medallion between her fingers for long minutes, finding it strange to feel it in her hand, being so accustomed to see it around the neck of the elegant Madame Guthrie. Then she had awkwardly put it on. It was strange, but after what she had seen in Nassau, her grief was dormant. She felt it was still there, deep within itself, like a wave that had temporarily withdrawn but would not fail to return, twice as violent as before. But during the funeral, it was silent. Only her trembling hands reflected her inner distress, and only Mr. Scott noticed it. He was probably bad too. His wife and daughter had been killed in the attack, as well as a hundred slaves, many of whom were his friends. But he also apparently hid his grief.

It was perhaps the only way to continue. Pretend and move forward. Eleanor had learned the lesson well and she already knew she would never forget it.

_**"I need you, Aquarius,** _

_**Enchanted I will have to say,** _

_**I fell you, Aquarius,** _

_**Cause you, the sea, set me free...** _

_**You call to me, Aquarius,** _

_**I relinquish to yours powers,** _

_**From your grasp, I just can't hide,** _

_**I missed the danger,** _

_**I had to conquer,** _

_**You made me feel alive."** _

_New Providence Island, Nassau._

_1709, six years later. Six years before the events of season 1._

She did not like rum at first.

Of course, anyone who tasted this liquor for the first time could only hate it. It burned her throat to the point that it seemed as if a fire had broken out there. And yet, everyone always asked for a second glass. Then a third. And as time went on, they became accustomed to the fire that it triggered. It was appreciated. And they all ended up no longer feeling it at all.

The first time Eleanor Guthrie had tasted rum, she was 13 years old. Alone, she had stolen a bottle from her father's tavern, and then took refuge in the back. God, Eleanor had hated it. And yet she took a second gulp almost immediately. Since then, like everybody else in Nassau, she had grown accustomed to rum, and for it to have an effect on her, she had to drink a lot. Sometimes, that was good, because she hated losing control of herself and it necessarily happened if you really had too much rum. And sometimes it annoyed her enormously. Like in this very moment, while she was sitting at the table in her father's office, in the Guthrie Tavern.

She passed her finger over the neck of the half empty bottle, after she drank half of it. It was either that, or go break something. The bottle on her father's head, perhaps? This was an idea that pleased her enormously. Who knows, she might give in to the temptation one day. Eleanor squeezed the glass in her hand and took another sip of rum. It did not work. She was not even sure she wanted to get drunk, to be honest. But there was only that to be done in the immediate future. She raised her eyes to gaze at Richard Guthrie's imposing desk, where he had spoken to her just a few hours before retiring to their home inland in Nassau.

Within a week, she would accompany him to Port-Royal, he said. He had important relationships that he would like to introduce to her. What that really meant, was that he felt it was time for her to start looking for a good suitor, a suitor that would preferably bring a big benefit to their families. Eleanor took a deep breath. The idea just made her sick. He had not asked her any questions or asked for her opinion. He was content to announce as clearly and coldly as when he was dealing with his partners. As if there was no question of the future of his only daughter.

 _“He does not give a damn about my future,”_ she thought as she poured another glass, while she watched the sun set slowly over Nassau through the open balcony. She knew it, though. She had always known, from a very young age. It annoyed her to feel this throbbing pain in her chest every time. She should have been used to it. Unless this is something you do not get used to. God, if mother had been here...

 _She is not here. She is dead._ Eleanor looked down at her glass of rum and watched the bronze liquid. It would not have changed anything anyway. Her mother, Caroline Guthrie, was not a cold woman. When she was a little girl, she had revealed to her that her father, Eleanor’s grandfather, did not want her to marry Richard Guthrie. Caroline Quincey came from a well respected family far higher in rank than the Guthrie family, whose name was not even familiar to them, as this family had barely begun their ascension at that time in the American colonies. And the Quincey family was that kind of arrogant and haughty family that believed they were above everything and everyone, even though they were not part of the nobility, having made a fortune about 40 years ago thanks to a copper mine found by pure luck. Caroline, the youngest of three daughters, had been promised to a young earl living in Bristol. Caroline replied to that by secretly marrying a young merchant who was today Eleanor’s dear father. For this, her mother had been disinherited. Her family cut her completely. They had not even come for Eleanor’s birth. And it had little importance in the end, because the couple had quickly left London for Boston, where her father had been born, where she had been born. What surprised Eleanor each time was the smile and good humor that her mother showed when she spoke of her family’s rejection. She seemed so happy that she mocked them madly. Eleanor often wondered how that was possible, as a child. Today, she assumed that Caroline Guthrie was simply too in love with her husband. Eleanor also wondered how that was possible.

Would her mother be against this trip to Port-Royal? To be honest, Eleanor had no idea, and that was only a second blow to her heart. Caroline Guthrie had died six years ago, when she was ten years old and everything that could have happened with her after that no longer mattered, because it would never happen anyway. Her mother would be of no help to her. _“I do not need help.”_ No, she could solve the problem on her own. She just had to find out how.

No doubt she could go to Port-Royal with her father and play the part, but Richard Guthrie would not stop there. Somehow, she had the feeling he was hoping to get rid of her. His cumbersome daughter... an investment that would not lead to anything, that's what he probably thought... She was a burden to her father, since he needed to spend money to feed, dress, and educate her. Eleanor squeezed her glass again. It's funny, but she would almost like the glass to break. Feeling the pain of the shards sinking into her fingers would certainly relieve her of the one that was burning her stomach.

_“Go fuck yourself, father. Go on on and fuck yourself.”_

She would not marry. At least not following the orders of her dear father or with a man she didn’t choose. Out of the question. She still preferred to throw herself from the top of the fort straight into the rocks. But no. There has to be a more logical solution. Anyway, it was high time she began to think about what she was really going to do in the months to come, in the years to come. She was 16 years old today, and she felt like she had been watching for decades, waiting for her time. And something told her that it would happen much sooner than she believed. She felt she had to be ready. Ready to prove to her father that he was wrong. Ready to take what was rightfully hers, as she was his legitimate daughter and his only child.

Eleanor got up, leaving the rum behind her, having lost all desire to drink, and went to the balcony where she leaned on the railing and watched the street in front of her, where the merchants came and went. Some pirates also passed, making noise, but in only an hour or two they would all flock to her father's tavern to get drunk until they ended up in the arms of the whores right next door. At this hour, most of the pirates were still dealing with yesterday's hangover in their tents at the beach. A pirate approached a tree and Eleanor saw him pull out his cock to piss while laughing and muttering to his friend who had stopped to look up at the stars.

Nothing changed on her face, but if she had listened to their words, she would have taken the gun hidden under her father's desk to put a hole into the pig's back. And also into the other men who piss and shit all over Nassau. This town stank half the time. An odor of brine, shit and fish. She loved this city. She had always loved it, even though she lived in the house a few kilometers inland. A house she hated since the death of her mother. As often as she could, she came here, to the harbor, to the tavern or elsewhere. Officially she still lived in their home with her father but she spent so much time in the tavern that she often ended up falling asleep in the bunk in her father's office. He hated that she came here, and she knew it. Which made it all the more enjoyable. The pirates and other visitors of the tavern had become so accustomed to see her in this place that they sometimes took her for the patroness. And if Eleanor wanted for years to have this power, this desire was much more violent once she had tasted it, even if only a little. They did not like her, she knew that. The men hated when she went downstairs and gave orders, but nobody dared disobey her either. Well, almost nobody. There was always that bastard Vane to fuck her.

Charles Vane. Eleanor chuckled exasperatedly as he thought of him. It had been years since he had appeared and she had the clear impression that fate had brought him to Nassau just to piss her off. She remembered perfectly the first time she had seen him, when she was 13, on the beach. It was three years after her mother's death, and she was beginning to really understand and grow accustomed to the feelings of anger and hatred towards her father. He looked at her strangely and back then, he already enervated her. And he had made the effort to repeat this feat so many times in the last three years, that whenever he was not at the tavern to make her angry, it felt weird. She also remembered the first time she had spoken to him, about a year and a half after their first meeting. She was 14 years old, at the tavern. She had spent what felt like an hour, keeping Vane’s gaze from the top of the stairs, hoping that he would lower his eyes first. They had started this little game from the moment she saw him again after the meeting at the beach. That night she had lost. She had been obliged to turn her eyes away before him because Mr. Scott had appeared, his eyes filled with disapproval and exasperation. And goodness, that made her mad with rage. As she went downstairs after he had more or less scolded her, - he and Mr Guthrie and already understood; this little girl never listened to anything they said. - she had heard the crash of a table being broken and had discovered Charles Vane fighting another pirate on the ground while the other men encouraged the fight, yelling and smashing their glasses against the surfaces of the tables. Mr Scott had wanted to drag her away from the scene, but Eleanor had suddenly pushed him away, feeling a rush of anger rising in her at the sight of the table in pieces and the other damage that these two assholes were causing at her family’s tavern. Without even thinking for a second about what she was doing, she rushed to the middle of the room, sneaking among the pirates without worrying about Mr Scott's calls, grabbing a glass of ale from a table without looking to see who it belonged to before throwing it in Vane’s face, as well as the other dog’s.

Vane had straightened up at once, releasing the second pirate - who was half-unconscious, anyway - ready to attack his offender, but he had frozen when he saw the girl before him. All the pirates stared at her as if she were a strange and terrifying creature, too. Eleanor kept Vane's gaze, who was watching her silently in strange curiosity, his fist still raised, showing that he had been ready to strike the man he thought she was. She then called out in a firm and angry voice:

"You two, get out of my tavern right away! Out! And you will pay for this table, is that clear?”

The whole room was silent. Everyone knew who she was, and the customers did not know how to react. Eleanor had briefly looked at the men around her and had felt slightly insecure, seeing the scornful looks, and the hatred of some of the men. But she did not back down for a second, turning her attention to Vane. It was him she was addressing in the first place, no one else. He had stared at her for a few seconds without saying anything, curiosity still shining in his eyes. Then he lowered his fist and burst out laughing, sincerely amused, shaking his head. He lowered his eyes to the man at his feet and without warning, kicked him in the stomach. It startled Eleanor, but she did not back down and continued to stare at Vane as he approached her, an arrogant smile on his lips before he said, stopping beside her:

"Your tavern, your laws, Miss Guthrie."

It was not the first time she heard his voice. She had often heard him talk to his crew at the tavern. Truth be told, his voice always distracted her from what she was doing to glance the way it came from. A very grave voice, far more than those of all the men she had heard so far. Eleanor had watched him without answering; frowning, quickly realizing that he was mocking her. However, his eyes, those green depths like the ocean she had been observing for months and months had a glow... of respect, she would have said. He did not challenge her orders and left the tavern, taking with him a full bottle of rum from the counter.

After that, Mr. Scott had caught up to her, furious, as furious as he could afford to be as a slave in charge of educating her, even though Eleanor still had trouble remembering that he was a slave. She was used to him and always spoke to him as her equal. But Eleanor had not listened to his scolding. All the way back, she was in a bad mood, grumpy. Vane had this gift, to put her in a bad mood. Three days later, when she had gone off to Nassau again, she saw him again at the end of the day, drinking alone with a skinny young man who seemed to be talking for two at a table at the back. She approached them before demanding that Vane paid for the table and she specified the amount he owed her. The skinny young man had watched her as if she was crazy but Eleanor did not pay him the slightest attention, keeping her eyes on Vane. He downed a glass of rum, a half smile on his lips, but before he could answer, Mr. Scott appeared again. She was forced to follow him but she told Vane that she was not finished with him before following Mr. Scott without waiting for his answer. After that, Eleanor did not have the opportunity to return to Nassau for two good weeks, Mr. Scott watching her like a watchdog. She was able to return to the tavern only with him, to join her father. While waiting for them to talk in the office, she sat on the stairs leading up to the tavern, annoyed to be left here waiting. There were few guests at that time; few came here in the late morning. There were nevertheless some drunks who passed by her but she did not look at them, keeping her eyes lowered to her hands, trying not to yield to the urge to go to walk through the camps near the fort. But she had already given Mr. Scott enough trouble lately, and he did not deserve more. It was then that a shadow had stopped above her, a hand dropping a few pieces of gold into her open palm. Surprised, Eleanor raised her eyes and discovered Vane standing in front of her, eyebrows raised and still with that amused gleam in her eyes.

"Satisfied, Miss Guthrie?"

She was going to answer him, but obviously, he did not expect any reply from her and laughed before going down the stairs to leave the tavern. Eleanor blinked, then looked at the gold coins in her hand. The amount was correct, indeed. Somehow, she felt extremely proud of being able to get a pirate's refund and it could be said that it kept her smiling for the rest of the day. Indeed, she was very satisfied.

Eleanor could not help smiling at the memory. She remembered finally offering the gold coins to Mr. Scott, specifying that it was the reimbursement of Captain Vane for the damage done to the tavern. His jaw dropped, and that made her even more pleased with herself. She had even smiled at Vane the next time she saw him at the tavern, during their usual little game, him downstairs and she up there. But that smile evaporated when he broke the front door of the tavern in another fight a few hours later. And since he was not the one responsible for the damage, she could not ask for a refund, this time. Neither him nor the other pirate ever gave her a single penny. From that moment on, she could not stop telling Vane what she thought of him and often asked him to get out of the tavern. And he would obey when she did so. Sometimes, when she shouted at him, he deliberately sat down, with a provocative look, telling her to "try to move him away," where sometimes he would leave the tavern, always finding a way to make fun of her whether by the tone of his voice, a gesture, his look or a well-placed word. At other times, she would see something on Vane's face, usually when he fought. Something animal. A dark glint that filled his eyes and in those moments, she no longer saw any mockery. In those moments, she understood that it was better to avoid provoking him any further, even if it did not prevent her from throwing him disapproving glares. In short, Charles Vane drives her crazy.

Most people thought she was really mad. She was one of the few who dared to go up against him. Everyone in Nassau seemed to respect him, even to fear him. It is true that he was impressive, and intimidating, especially when he had that wild glow in his eyes, but she had never managed to feel afraid of him, without really knowing why. She knew, however, that he was dangerous. Maybe it was because of his mentor. He scared her, even if she would never admit it. Captain Teach. He rarely came to the Guthrie tavern, having no affection for the smuggler of Nassau apparently, but the few times Eleanor had seen him in the company of Vane, she had been careful not to get too close. Something in this man did not please her, he made her anxious. She hated seeing him in her tavern. She hated to see him in the company of Charles Vane, too, without really knowing why. But thank God, it was rare that she was in the tavern at the same time as him, although in her last months she spent most of her time in Nassau, forgetting that she lived in the same house as her father, away from the bay.

Lately, too, something had changed in Vane's behavior towards her. She did not know if it should worry her or if she should be flattered, to be honest. His eyes had changed. He looked at her far more than before and she had several times caught his eyes wandering her body. When she spoke to him, whether it was to shout at him or not, his answers now seemed to be twofold. Eleanor was not stupid. Of course, she had not yet known men, and had not really wanted to do so just yet, but she wasn’t totally ignorant about the subject. Eleanor knew enough to recognize a man who wanted her. And Vane did. In fact, he did not even hide it. About three weeks ago, late at night, she had gone out of the tavern, exhausted and annoyed because of the brothel, which she could not manage properly because she did not hold the same authority as her father. She sat behind the tavern, in a dark corner where a few steps led to the balcony of her father's desk, anchored inside the tavern. Aside from her, there was no one else around and she breathed in the fresh night air, watching the flames of the torches illuminating the lane that led to the beach. God, she loved this sight. It soothed her so much better than any glass of rum.

Noise finally attracted her attention, sounding from behind her, and she recognized, even in the dark, the silhouette of Charles Vane. His cigar was glowing in the darkness and he stepped forward a little when he noticed her. She could hardly see his face in the night but she heard his voice clearly when he murmured: 

"What is Miss Guthrie doing out here all alone, in the middle of the night?"

Eleanor frowned. She did not like his tone at all, but as far as she remembered, she had never liked any tone Charles Vane used to talk to her. His face emerged from the darkness as he leaned over the guardrail to better observe her. He looked pensive, intrigued, too. Always with this little amused, mocking glint in his eyes that every time made Eleanor want to give him a splendid slap. Or a good punch. One day, she would no longer be able to resist this urge.

"I do not see how it concerns you. Do not forget that even here, this is still my tavern, Vane.”

She never called him "Captain Vane." Not when he was present, anyway. It was clearly a lack of respect, a lack of respect that nobody else could afford. Charles Vane was still a relatively young captain who was struggling to look as formidable as his terrifying mentor did, yet his growing reputation was already enough to frighten most of the inhabitants of this island. Eleanor knew that he had acquired a ship about a year ago in a raid against Boston merchants with Teach, an imposing brig which name they did not know, and Vane had finally baptized her the Ranger. It was at that time he became a more or less independent captain, even though he was still making few attacks without Teach. Nevertheless, he had already brought some pretty booty to her father, apparently.

He chuckled lightly, taking a drag from his cigar and Eleanor spoke coldly, not giving him time to answer: "It's been a while since I've last seen you here. Why are you not at sea, looking for wealthy ships that will bring a few coins to my father? Ah, maybe it's because Teach does not seem very motivated to go hunting at the moment. You're afraid to leave without him, right?".

On target. Vane's gaze hardened and the look he gave her would have pushed any pirate to piss their pants in fear. Eleanor simply replied with a provocative half-smile. She had touched where it hurts, and she was proud of it. She had already seen that this kind of remark had the gift of putting him on edge ever since he became captain. She had already heard men saying that without Teach, Vane was nothing and it was because of these same men that he tended to destroy the furniture of her tavern. Charles Vane increasingly hated being seen as inseparable from Teach. Unable to function properly alone.

He rolled his cigar between his fingers and leaned a bit further to whisper in a sharper voice:

"And you, why have you been coming here almost every night as of late? Perhaps because you still hope that your dear papa will eventually grant you a little power, or even a little interest. Do you think you will one day stop begging him for his attention?

Eleanor clenched her fist. _I do not beg anything of my father. Or anyone else._ That almost did it. Ouch. He could not have said words more painful than those. She supposes she was asking for it, but the anger began to boil inside her like never before. _You bastard._ She had to admit that he knew where it hurt, too. She got up abruptly and gave him a poisonous look, spitting out the words before turning on her heels and walking away:

"Fuck you, Vane."

"Do not worry about that," he chuckled behind her back. “In the future you should pay attention to what you say.

“Keep your threats," she exclaimed, turning to walk closer again, to show him she was not afraid of him. It's you who should pay attention to what you say. Whatever relationship I have with my father, he remains my father. I could very well ruin your pirate career before it even really started.”

"Try it," he retorted, with a smirk, and suddenly looked much more amused and relaxed. “I'm curious to see that. It would be so easy to twist your little neck before you even uttered a word against me...”

"Why do not you do it now, then?" She provoked him and walked even closer, until she found herself a few centimeters from his face. “Mh? Go ahead, do it. We are alone, and so I would not be a threat to you. Why do not you do it, Vane?”

 _You're playing with fire._ Eleanor knew it and she had absolutely no plans to give in. His threats did not impress her, nor did he frighten her, and she was determined to make him understand. She was so close to him that she almost felt his warm breath on her face, and the desire to swing a good kick between his legs touched her mind before she pushed it away. She in the ideal position for that and sweet Jesus, she wanted to, but she was not completely silly either.

Vane raised his eyebrows slightly, his half-smile widened, and something changed in his look. His blue eyes darkened once more but not in the same way as usual. It was a glow once again more... animal, strangely, but also much more lucid. The same eyes descended on her lips and briefly raked over the rest of her body before returning to her eyes as he murmured in a low voice: “I do not know. Maybe because I want you.”

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows but she did not miss her chance to turn the discussion to her advantage. She had noticed his look, lingering on her whole body and it was not the first time that he looked at her like that. With desire. Somewhere, the fact that this man wanted her like this disturbed her, but she could not have said whether it was a pleasant disturbance or a troublesome one. The only thing she knew at the moment was that she could play it as she wanted and it was out of the question that she missed the chance.

Eleanor approached slowly again, a half smile appearing this time on her lips, and Vane's mouth was so close to hers that he would have had just a few inches to descend in order to kiss her. She wanted to tempt him. She wanted him to feel the brush of her lips, pulling back at the last moment. Give him that almost-taste but do not anything else. Leave him frustrated. A punishment she felt was equal to his insult. She let him believe for a few seconds that she was going to kiss him, until she saw the surprise in his eyes, showing that he was entering her little game. She smelled the scent of rum and cigar emanating from him and for a second, she was tempted to really kiss him. This smell attracted and disturbed her more than she would admit, and the more she watched his lips, the more she wanted to taste them. The only person she'd kissed until now was some girl in the brothel. Did a man's lips have a different taste? Was it more brutal? How different was it from kissing a woman? She could easily have the answer to her questions. It would be easy enough to go on and forget her first idea of playing with him. For a second she almost gave in to the temptation and did it. He remained pleasantly surprised and somewhat suspicious, it was perhaps for that reason that he did not take the lead. He was waiting. He watched her and waited for what she was going to do.

No. She had almost fallen into her own trap and this made her vaguely exasperated but she showed no sign of it. Eleanor stepped forward slightly, until Vane's lips brushed against hers, and then murmured as she looked into his eyes: "You will never have me."

She turned abruptly and left him on the spot, with the firm intention not to turn back around this time. Eleanor heard a deep laugh behind her and Vane said in a loud voice so that she could hear:

"We shall see about that, Miss Guthrie!"

She glanced instinctively over her shoulder and was somewhat surprised to see him smile with sincere amusement, but she did not give in, and walked back inside the tavern. On the way, she could not help but laugh slightly. This little game with him had the gift of amusing her. She had also noticed that her fatigue and lassitude had been soothed and she felt once again ready to impose herself in this fucking tavern. She might go and provoke Charles Vane more often, it was something invigorating.

Eleanor laughed all alone, still leaning on the same balcony that had hosted this exchange. She glanced at her right where Vane and she had stood. She believes what she said back then also had an energizing effect on him because he left three days later to hunt a merchant ship from Kingston that he had heard about, without Teach. He had not returned until four days ago, she had yet to see him in the tavern, but she learned via Mr. Scott and also the gossipers that he had brought a nice booty to her father. He would eventually reappear, surely before she was forced to leave for Port-Royal.

This stinging reminder makes her mood darken again. And to say that she had almost forgotten it, for a second. The night was now almost falling on Nassau and a fresh breeze swept her face, and Eleanor closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the sea. Admittedly associated with an odor of shit, as always, but oddly, she adored this smell. It was simply the smell of Nassau. Beautiful and dirty. When she opened her eyes, she saw several men walking along the lane to the tavern. The night has almost fallen, the guests arrived. Her gaze lingered on two men she saw from time to time, even though they were not among the drunkards of Nassau. She knew their names... Flint. Yes, Flint, that's it. Accompanied by Mr. Gates, of course. She had known Mr. Gates for many years, for a while he had been working in Nassau, even though he had only arrived after the attack on Rosario. She liked that guy pretty well. Once, as he got closer to Mr. Scott and was next to her, he smiled cheerfully and rubbed her hair in a nice gesture, but he understood by the dark look she gave him it was better to avoid this in the future. But still, she liked him. This Flint was the new captain of their ship, the Walrus. He hadn’t been in Nassau for a long time, only a year, and he rarely came to the tavern. But his name had remained on her mind because he had managed to achieve very impressive catches in recent months. He quickly made a name of himself, obviously.

Mr. Gates saw her and nodded at her with a friendly smile, which she gave it back, but it was kinda difficult for her. She was not in the mood to be friendly and from looking at Flint's head next to Gates, he did not look in a very good mood either. Poor Mr. Gates, always optimistic and always stuck with grumpy captains. She laughed dryly, and glanced at the brothel down the street. She thought for a moment of going, in order to let herself go with one of the girls. She had never done so, but she had often thought about it. Maybe she could relax. She even felt capable of paying a few coins just to talk.

But no. That would not be enough tonight. It was not really comfort and an attentive ear that she really wanted. She would have liked to find something that would allow her to let out the anger she had in her. While also annoying her father. No girl in the brothel could help her for that, and she did not want to go and weigh her poor misfortune on someone else's shoulders. In the eyes of one of the girls it would not seem so serious. And compared to their situation, it may not have been that much. But it made her mad with rage. Perhaps she should ask Vane, who knows how to get her out of her hinges with so much ease, he would probably have some good advice to give her on this subject.

That's when it crossed her mind. She stopped for a few seconds and looked up at the bay in the distance. _No... no, I will not do that._ And why not, after all? What prevented her from doing so? Who forbade her? No one could afford to tell her what to do with her body. Nobody, and surely not her father. So, what better way was there to make him understand that, other than giving her body to a pirate?

 _No, no, no, she would give Vane what he wanted._ _No way._ Perphaps, yes, but she preferred to have Vane annoying her rather than her father. And somewhere she had to admit it was not the only reason she was thinking about it at this very moment. The questions she had asked herself in that famous evening, when she was alone with Vane in front of the tavern, those questions had not left her mind and the more time passed, the more they began to become incessant, in reality.

"You will never have me." The more she thought about this sentence, the more she found it hollow. She did not really even think about it, when she said it. The only thing she thought of at that moment was that she had almost fallen victim to her own game. And why not give in, after all? She had wanted it that night. Even if she found it difficult to admit, she had wanted to.

Losing her virginity to a pirate. This would make her father mad with anger. The pirates were very useful to him, and he never complained about them, but he would not fail to despise them when he learned that his daughter had ruined all her chances of a fine marriage by fucking with a pirate. Already, he had probably struggled to find good suitors for her because of the reputation he was dragging behind him... well, that would not prevent a marriage if she was honest with herself but it would be the perfect provocation to her father. True, she did not really need it because, in any case, it was out of the question that she married anyone, even if she went to Port-Royal...

But now that she was thinking of it, she really craved for it. She hated the idea that she was going to give to the bastard Charles Vane what he wanted. And she loved the idea that it was going to make her father crazy with rage. And more than anything else, strangely, her curiosity was burning now. She wanted to know, to find out. And if she was honest with herself, she saw no other man better for that than Vane. None had ever even attracted her gaze aside from him.

Eleanor suddenly turned and walked steadily into the darkened office, as she had not lit candles, and went out of the office to find herself in the heart of the room and the heat that reigned in the tavern. Sometimes Eleanor wondered why her father kept this tavern. He spent most of his time in their home and he seemed to hate the place. She, despite all she could say about this tavern, had to admit that she was attached to it. One day she would find a way to take this place from her father. This place, and all the rest.

She stopped by the bar and grabbed a bottle of rum from under the counter before heading back without looking at the bartender. Her tavern, her laws. That was what Vane had told her one day, years ago, and she smiled at that memory. She smiled on her own as she left the tavern, jostling a prostitute who had gone astray from the brothel and yelled something at her that Eleanor did not listen to. At one time, Mr. Scott would have been furious if he knew she was venturing alone on the beach, in the night, where the drunken roamed the most. Today he had realized that it was useless to try to prevent her from going out, even though he insisted that she should have a bodyguard to protect her. She thought about it, too, but at that moment she did not care. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of what she was about to do. Somewhere she told herself she was crazy and that she was really playing with fire. Taking the risk of burning, and violently. And the thought only made her more excited.

After long minutes of walking she finally arrived on the beach and she felt her feet sink gently as she ventured into the sand where the camps of the pirates began to appear, illuminated by imposing torches before the tents. She walked straight in front of her, looking at the flags, looking for Vane's. She felt the looks of the pirates staring at her, even though it was less frequent than before. Everyone knew who she was, everyone knew who her father was, and everyone knew that she should not be touched. She ignored them superbly, and continued to move forward looking at the flags floating above the camps, pointing out who owned the tents and the crew installed, and she eventually spotted Vane’s, right at the end of the beach, a little away from the rest. The black flag was not very visible at night, but she spotted the bright red colors of the skull, knife and heart that served as Vane's banner.

She slowed down a bit, feeling her breathing accelerate as she approached. A campfire had been made out of the sand, and several men were talking around it, but Charles was not there. She recognized the thin man who always followed Charles, Rackham, if she had a good memory - sitting on a wooden box with his hand in the hair of a red-haired woman whom Eleanor had seen at the tavern a few times, whose name she did not know. She was drinking from a bottle of rum, her head on Rackham's lap as he spoke vividly with another half-drunk man beside him. But Eleanor saw that he noticed it when she crossed the camp to reach the tent from which the flag raised, and even if he continued to talk with the other pirate, his eyes did not leave her as he stared, visibly intrigued. If they hoped their young captain would join them, they would wait a little while.

She entered the tent and found Charles squatting in front of something, and when he heard the sound of her arrival he turned around and the point of a saber was placed under the Eleanor’s throat. She felt the sharp iron touching her skin but she did not move an inch. It would be stupid not to draw a weapon when someone enters your tent in Nassau. Stupid and suicidal. She expected such a reaction. Perhaps she had even desired it. She wanted to catch him off guard.

And considering the glint of surprise that flickered in his eyes, mixing with mistrust, she had succeeded. Charles kept his sword at her throat for a few seconds, looking at her suspiciously and curiously. With more mistrust than curiosity. After a few seconds, however, he ended up lowering his weapon, although he did not let go of it, and raising his eyebrows at her suspiciously: “What the hell are you doing here?”

Eleanor smiled at him, although internally, she felt her belly twist slightly in apprehension and excitement. She felt strangely the same as the first time she jumped into the ocean, when she was a child, from the top of a rock in a beach a little distant from the port of Nassau. The same excitement and desire at the idea of the danger of the waves and the depth, the freshness of the water and the adrenaline that she was going to feel, the same fascination for the moving beauty of the water and the sea. And the same fear of the darkness of the deep and the violence of the sea. Exactly the same feeling, yes. Somehow, this man could be as dangerous as the ocean, after all. But she was not afraid of him. She even smiled at this thought, to be honest.

She approached him a little, releasing her bottle of rum that fell heavily to the ground. Trying to mask her emotions, apprehension, excitement, fascination, desire, makes her tremble in front of him, And she watched as his eyes became more and more suspicious as she approached him a little bit further, bringing her fingers to her shirt with the intention of unbuttoning it, wanting that he understood her intentions. Her fingers hesitate, and she doesn’t really know why, as she asked instinctively in a provocative tone: “You still want me?”

Charles frowned at the words, looking at her as if she was kidding him. This gave her a vague feeling of satisfaction, even if she would have preferred that he did not doubt her at this moment. Her fingers were still on the buttons of her shirt but she dropped them, deciding on another course of action. Now that he was right there, facing her, the temptation was even stronger than before. She saw his lips illuminated by the candles lit in the tent, giving an orange glow to his face and just like that night a few weeks ago, she was dying to taste them. She was dying to feel that beard burning her cheeks, to know how that feelt too. At this thought, she raised her hand without thinking to touch Charles's lips, brushing her fingers over his beard. Strangely, she had more or less stopped thinking. She felt like she was falling into a strange torpor. Perhaps it was due to the heat, the rum, the excitement, the fear. At this contact, something changed in Charles's gaze, making it darker. The mistrust disappeared, and she began to see that same desire appearing in her eyes, the same one she had so often seen in recent times. She could not help but smile. Even if he wanted to, he would have been unable to resist. Although something told her that he would absolutely not want to resist.

He then let go of his sword, which fell with a dry sound on the sand, and the second after, his arms had snaked around her waist to draw her to him while his mouth claimed hers. It was like a harsh, brutal awakening for Eleanor when she felt imprisoned in his two strong arms that pressed her against his hard body. Her first reflex was to struggle, but then she remembered that she was the one who came to him, and that this was what she wanted. Why would she run? _Relax,_ she told herelf mentally. Then she tried to forget her brief embarrassment and respond to the kiss. At last, she could feel that beard against her face. It was prickling, as she imagined, but it was quite pleasant, even exciting. This kiss was nothing like what she had known before. It was more... animal. More brutal and somewhere pretty sweet, too. She felt something light up at her core, like a fiery brazier on which one had blew, stimulating the fire even further. His lips had the taste of rum, cigar and sea salt. If the smell had always attracted her, the taste was even more exquisite.

Letting herself go, she brought her arms around his neck, stroking his long hair and her hand on the back of his neck pulled him in further, deepening the kiss. Charles responded by lowering his hands to her bottom to lift her and a few seconds later Eleanor found herself lying on the furs piled on the floor, forming a makeshift mattress, and felt his weight over her.

A slight disturbance came creeping in, and the urge to repel him was still lingering. She had the impression that, under his weight, she could not escape and that feeling did not please her. That feeling allied to the fact that she also felt like she could not control anything. But her thoughts became blurred as he returned to her lips, and she felt his rough brush over her cheek before descending to her hips, touching her thighs briefly, then moving back up. She clearly felt his hard cock against her and this contact brought back the apprehension that had haunted her and as she ran her hands over his warm back, she felt them start to tremble and did everything she could to control it. _Do not shake. Do not show him that it's your first time. Just don’t._ The thought somewhat ridiculous, he must have suspected it at some point. And if he did not know it, he would soon find out if he had a bit of intelligence.

Charles pulled away from her and stood up a little while to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his torso and while she had the intention to do the same and undress, her hands instinctively landed on Charles's hot and hard skin. His eyes met hers and she was captivated by the glint in the green eyes that stared at her, a glint wild and controlled at the same time. He was trying to restrain himself, she also saw that. Her fingers touched a strange scar on the upper right of his collarbone, a bizarrely shaped mark, and he grunted slightly when he felt this contact but he did not push her away. He could have withdrawn his hand and forced things to go faster if he wanted, but he let her touch him for a few minutes before moaning and leaning to bury his face against her neck, and it was her turn to groan when she felt his lips against her skin. She was sensitive of the neck, good God.

Eleanor brought her hands between her body and Charles’ in order to find the buttons of her shirt before she began to undo them slowly, her fingers clearly trembling but at this point it was not so important after all. Charles pushed her hands away to do this himself and when she felt both the fresh air on her breasts as well as the warmth of Charles's body she felt vulnerable. Much too vulnerable. And that only increased when his lips went down to find her chest. She closed her eyes, groaning softly, and her thoughts became blurry. His beard gently irritated the skin, but it was a pleasant pain. She wanted it to go on. She wanted him to go much further. And she wanted to cover herself too. She wanted more and she wanted less. Fuck this shit... _Stop thinking. You think too much._

She felt Charles's hand slip down between them, and pull something off her belt and she could not help but hold her breath, apprehension bringing knots to her belly. For the first time since she knew Charles Vane, she felt intimidated. It was perhaps even the first time she knew this feeling with any man. She felt almost... fragile. And at that very moment, she would not have known if she found it embarrassing or if it did not matter. She had the impression that the burning fire was devouring her from the inside, ever since he began to touch her... a fire too violent. And not enough either.

Once he got rid of his pants, she felt her skirts rise up who preventing him from going any further, the fresh air on her bare legs made her shudder, although it was a gentle shudder compared to the one caused by the feeling of his naked thighs against hers. His lips left her body and then he hovered above her, putting an arm beside her face, and she could see his eyes, while his other hand slipped between her legs again, guiding himself. Here. It's going to happen, here, now. She did not leave his eyes, she could not do it to be honest, and she finally put her arms around his neck to draw him closer. She needed it. Their lips were close without touching, and then she moaned against his mouth when she felt him inside her, the hard thrust making the pain much worse than she would have thought. Charles's hand then brushed over her cheek in a caress almost tender, and he whispered a word of reassurance that surprised her a little. She did not resist the urge to wrap her fingers around the hand that he had placed on her cheek, gently squeezing it and closing her eyes as he continued. He went slowly at first, but soon ended up moaning and the thrusts of his hips became much more intense. It hurt. And it was good, too. All the while, Eleanor had her fingers wrapped around his wrist, which she squeezed each he pushed into her, while her forehead was against his. Her other hand was on his back and she pressed her fingernails into his skin. Maybe in order to hurt him too, but she did not really think about it. She did not know what she was feeling. It was different from everything she'd known before. Much more intense. She was in pain, and yet she did not want it to stop. This feeling of being taken, of being possessed... She felt small under his body and if a few moments ago, she would have hated that, for the moment there was nothing more pleasant. That did not stop her from biting his shoulder, making him snort at her. He ended by moaning her name near her ear and reaching his peak inside her, and her own groan accompanied his, although she knew that her pleasure had been less strong than his. Too much pain. And yet, it had been more intense than anything she had ever experienced. And she knew she would want more.

They panted for a few minutes, both recovering their breath, their faces still glued to each other and she needed a moment to start thinking correctly. He had finally collapsed on top of her and he was heavy. Too heavy. He did not suffocate her, but it made her a little uncomfortable and she made him understand that by pushing him with her legs, and he withdrew from her to move to the side, still panting. Eleanor then remained motionless and silent, looking at the fabric ceiling of the tent moving to the wind. Her panting subsided a little and she had a little trouble realizing that she had just given herself to a man. To Charles Vane. Thoroughly and completely. The feeling of vulnerability again struck her hard. She was too exposed, her breasts in the open air, her skirts rising on her thighs. She straightened up then, her heart beating fast, and pushed her skirts back down her legs before she buttoned up her blouse, trying to bring order back to her head. But she could not think properly when she felt the warmth of his body right next to her own. She should better go home. Yes, that's what she was going to do. She just had to find the strength to get on her legs, and that was not easy. She then felt a hand gently grab her arm, and she turned to look at Charles, lying on her right side, looking at her indecipherably before asking:

“Why did you come here?”

His question caught her somewhat unprepared and she frowned. Why did she come to him? _To provoke my father. To challenge him._ Yes, that was her primary motivation. But now that she was repeating the words in her head, they sounded strangely fake and hollow. Maybe it was just an excuse she gave herself, after all. An excuse because she wanted to try something with this man and she did not want to give him the victory to have been the only reason that made her want to do that. But she could at least grant him something. A soft smile appeared on her lips and she whispered softly, repeating his words without lying:

“I don't know. Maybe because I wanted you.”

Charles laughed softly in the shadows and shook his head. His hand moved to stroke her back and Eleanor closed her eyes to the shudder that ran through her spine at this contact as he murmured in a hoarse voice:

“Stay. There's enough room for two here.”

“And your men?” She asked without opening her eyes as he continued to slowly caress her back. “Are they not waiting for you, outside?

"Let them go fuck themselves," he growled as he ran his hand over his face.

It was her turn to laugh softly. But she did not answer at once. Somewhere she really wanted to go home. To find the office of the tavern and the bed in which her father had never slept, and which had more or less become hers. She would feel fully like herself there. She knew that and it reassured her. She would no longer have this feeling of vulnerability that has been tearing her since she came to him. And somewhere, she felt good. So good, that she did not want to move at all. She opened her eyes and glanced outside. The night was well underway now. And the more the night went on, the more dangerous the streets became. Perhaps it was better for her to stay, after all.

So she laid down again, taking care to turn her back on him. She would have been unable to stay and look him in the eyes. She did not know what could be read on her face at this moment and she did not want to take any risks. Her cheek snuggled against the fur and she felt Charles move to grab a blanket, pulling it over their bodies before pressing up against her and wrapping an arm around her belly, the other above her head. She felt his hot breath against her ear and knew that he had come closer. She nearly pulled away the arm that had wrapped around her middle, but ended up finding this contact pleasant enough. Just as the warmth of his body just behind hers or that of his arm just above her face. It almost alleviated the sense of vulnerability she had felt until then. Almost.

She felt him move behind her and he whispered softly into her ear:

“You still hurt?”

She inhaled deeply and only shook her in answer. She would have been unable to answer really. Of course he knew. She suspected he would notice it. She had nodding to say "no", but it was not quite true. No way would she admit it, however. Especially not after his question. Charles added nothing, fortunately, contenting himself with pulling her closer to him. They spent a few minutes like this, silently, and after a while she finally felt good. Tiredness had fallen on her suddenly, preventing her from reflecting too much, and she was pleasantly surprised with the feeling that overtook her. She felt warm. Protected. Perhaps it was because she was half-conscious. She really did not care. She just pressed her head against his arm, almost using it as a pillow and she finally put her hand on the one he had on her belly to bring it to her chest, keeping it under hers. And it only took a few moments for her to fall asleep after that, the last thing she saw was the image of her fingers laced with his.

It was the fresh air that awakened her. The fresh air and the cries of seagulls and crashing of the waves. Eleanor opened her eyes, disoriented, and it took her a few minutes to remember where she was. And what happened last night. She blinked and stood up abruptly, running her hand over her face. Charles's arm was still on her stomach and it slipped gently as she straightened up. She glanced at him, lying beside her. He was still sleeping, and deeply, seeing his regular, deep breathing. She could not help but observe him for a few minutes. To be honest, he had slightly surprised her last night. He was not so brutal, contrary to what she expected from a man. From a pirate. She often heard the girls of Nassau say that men were mostly real brutes. It wasn’t really that way with him. Hard, animal perhaps but still quite sweet. And very nice.

She shook her head and then stood up, grimacing at the pain she felt in her lower abdomen, but she ignored it and tried to stand up without making too much noise. She had no desire to talk to him now. Very honestly, she would not know what to say. She re-did the last buttons of her shirt and then noticed the full rum bottle she had brought. When she came here, she had at first thought that they would drink a little, but nothing happened as she had imagined. That did not displease her too much, in the end. Let him keep the rum, he will appreciate it more than her anyway.

Slowly, she walked past him and went out of the tent as silently as possible, fresh air outside refreshing her immediately. She saw that the sun had barely risen, which did not surprise her, she was unable to sleep much, going to bed late and rising early. Some men were sleeping near the campfire, extinguished by the sand, but there was no trace of Rackham and the red-haired girl who was hanging out with him. And besides sleeping drunks, there was not a soul in the camps. It was too early for them, most of them probably had just gone to bed.

Eleanor began to leave the camp, and thought of what just happened. She could not stop herself from having a little smile on her lips as she picked up her pace. She felt much better than when she had gone this way in the opposite direction the day before. Almost free, in reality. Freed from her anger. She was not really worried about her father's marriage plans anymore, without knowing why. What just happened would not prevent a marriage, she knew. No, it's not the fact that she had fucked with Charles Vane that was going to stop her father. It will be simply her. She was unwilling to marry, and no one would compel her to do so, and she would take it upon herself to make her father understand this during their little journey to Port Royal. Who knows, maybe it will be fun in the end.

Being a wife... It was not the life she wanted. What she wanted was to take control of the tavern. Having responsibilities, something to do, being important because she was certain she would do much better than her father here. He didn't give a damn about this island; all that interested him was the benefits. He let Nassau rot in shit. She could do both. Maintain a steady profit while making this place something much greater than it was right now. She wanted that, and she could feel the sea air she was breathing at the moment as she walked up the beach, her feet sinking into the sand she barely felt beneath her boots, glancing behind to see the sunrise reflecting on the water. It was something she would never tire of. She wanted to find other ways to annoy and provoke Charles Vane, too. And find other excuses to go and join him in his tent in the middle of the night. Many, many other excuses.


End file.
